Rebooked
by miscreant rose
Summary: Drabbles and one-shots set in my modern Mary/Matthew AU "Cancelled" Universe. Ratings vary per chapter. Usual disclaimers as to I do not own these characters (only a little bit their modern reimagining), no copyright infringement intended, all is born out of the love for those who created and hold the rights to DA. Grazi et mea culpa.
1. Up All Night

_I begged thelonegrasshopper for a drabble prompt one night, and she threw this my way: "Modern Mary and Matthew arguing over who has to get up with George."_

* * *

Her eyes snapped open at the sounds of soft stirring from the bassinet at the end of the bed. She glanced at the clock. 3:06. Exactly one hour and ten minutes since she had collapsed exhausted back into bed.

There was another little grunt and gurgle from the bassinet.

They didn't tell you about this. All those pregnancy and parenthood books and classes. No one mentioned that no matter how insanely exhausted you were, within moments of becoming a mother, the slightest stirring of the baby would wake you. And wake her is all George had done tonight.

She could hear him smack his lips now. That was her two minute warning until a full on cry.

She was somewhere beyond tired, drunk from lack of steady sleep. She needed to move but it wasn't quite urgent enough. Yet. Fairly certain even her brain hurt at this point, she wondered if she would be able to move.

But she knew the answer. Even in this utter exhaustion, her body would function on autopilot. Up to fetch George. Slip out of the bedroom to the little alcove by the door where their glider was. No energy to put in the earbuds for the audiobook on the iPod she had parked on the table beside it. Instead, lean her head back, close her eyes, and doze as George fed. Struggle to burp him. Stumble back to the changing table to diaper wrangle in the tiny bit of light that slipped in through the cracked door (she had become quite skilled at in-the-dark-diaper-wrangling). George settled back in his bassinet. Resist the urge to throw herself down on the bed with the force it would take to wake Matthew.

She turned her head to peek at where he was sprawled beside her. Breastfeeding was a struggle enough, but this part of it seemed incredibly unfair. Then again, his paternity leave was over, where all she was required to do for the next few months was muddle through the day with George.

There was a loud grunt and yawn and almost chirping sound from the end of the bed.

"How can he possibly be hungry again?"

She turned and looked at Matthew in surprise. His eyes were still closed.

"Growth spurt," she murmured and sighed. She started to sit up.

His hand reached out to brush against hers.

"Stay there, I'll get him."

She frowned, trying to think of a protest. Or even to point out the logic of how she was the one with the food. But her brain was still stuck on processing the fact that he was even awake.

He was walking back to the bed, cradling the small bundle in his arms. "You, sir, are going to drive your mum right round the bend tonight."

An answering half cry and lip smack.

He handed George over to her as he slipped back into bed.

She started to move, to make the usual stumble out of the room, but Matthew's hand stopped her again.

"Just nurse him here," he murmured, settling in on his side facing her, eyes drifting shut.

Her head was too foggy. Part of her had wanted to give into the ease of nursing him in bed, or even sleeping with him there between them, but she had never even dared mention the idea to Matthew. She feared he would find it too crunchy-granola natural parenting.

"I don't want to disturb you."

He opened one eye and peered up at her.

"Darling, I have been awake with every feed and change, you cannot disturb me. You are being put through the wringer tonight and I'm rather helpless in the getting up to feed him department. Just nurse him here, and at least doze, I'll change him when he's done and he can sleep here between us. I'll even take all the pillows off to be safe."

Stunned he had actually even voiced this, she just stared back at him after breathing out a quiet, "Oh." She didn't move from his warm gaze until George managed a half-wail. Stirred to action she started to try and figure out how to arrange herself and him so that he could nurse, yet found it surprisingly simple as both their bodies seemed to already know the dance. Much easier in her dizzying state of exhaustion. And rather soothing, she decided as her eyes drifted shut.

Matthew's warm hand came to settle half over hers where it cupped around George, and she could sense his thumb stroking against the baby's back. His legs drifted across the mattress to tangle with hers.

"Love you," he murmured, and she hummed a soft sigh in return.


	2. LBD

_I need warnings on photo ops, okay? My poor chronic fangirlittis cannot handle when things pop up out of the blue and send me all a flutter. I usually need a bourbon in preparation to handle it all._

 _KNOWING this, two Evil Southerners (tm) teased me and said they needed smut based a certain favorite black dress. Nice to know I'm the one they turn to for smut. So this happened, but no smut. Looks like_ _this modern AU M/M_ _are sticking around to play with my brain. I'm still figuring things out for them, but I really like what they have shared with me so far._

* * *

She leaned toward the mirror, carefully refastening the thin silver hoop earring that had come loose. She caught the reflection of his grin as he walked past her, his tux doing its usual number on her, the crisp lines of it complimenting his figure a bit too well, making her stomach flutter in response.

"You realize we should be leaving now."

"Well, I think I'm ready," she answered, brushing her fingers across her bare collarbones, pleased with her choice to forgo any jewelry other than the delicate earrings. The simple corseted black lace was just the look she wanted. Checking her makeup one last time, she tried to smooth down a stubborn flyaway lock, before turning back to smile at him.

He gave her a puzzled look. "Sure you are. Do you need me to help with your dress again?"

"What do you mean?" She glanced down, slightly panicked she had snagged the delicate lace or there was a mark. "Is something not right?" She twisted to try and check her back in the mirror.

There was no answer. She glanced back at him and his stunned expression as his gaze travelled over her, stopping at her lace-kissed cleavage.

"Matthew, what? Is something wrong with my dress?"

He swallowed. " _That_ is your dress?"

Realizing what his reaction had been, she rolled her eyes as she headed to the foyer and their coats. "Don't start." She turned and held out her coat for him to help her with.

He was scowling at her, his cheeks and ears beginning to redden. "Tell me you are kidding." She raised her brows at him, not budging. "Mary, that's a slip, not a dress."

"Oh really, Matthew!"

"This is a launch event for our biggest client and you are going to show up in … in … _lingerie_?"

She was glaring at him now as she struggled into her coat on her own. "Congratulations, you have hit over-dramatic."

"I'm thinking of the client's reaction to this." He snatched his coat off the wooden hanger that rattled on the rail with the force of his tug.

She pursed her lips and stepped closer to him as he fumbled with his coat, his usual grace and self-assuredness faltering with his distraction. "Are you sure you're not thinking of your own reaction and a bit of jealousy?"

She watched his ears take on a deeper shade of red as he refused to meet her gaze.

"They'll be peeved when all the cameras end up on you," he muttered. "We're supposed to be making business headlines, not tabloid headlines. The press will have a field day with this."

"Yes, completely over-dramatic. This is hardly fodder for the tabloids, and besides, if it brings more publicity on the _business_ front for the firm," she emphasized the word as she caught his sulky stare, "I think I just might get those five new clients to push me over quota for the year. And that would be with three months to spare." She leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek, making sure her lipstick didn't leave a mark. "Now, hurry up. You're the one who said we were late." She grabbed her evening bag from the table before shooting him one last smug look.

He followed, door slamming behind him. "You pull off five new accounts at this and not get us fired from _this_ client, and I might give in on that beach holiday."

She laughed into the cool evening air, catching his arm at the top of the steps so they walked down to the waiting car together. "Darling, you had better start packing.

* * *

The warmth of the Aegean air was pure bliss against her skin. She sighed as she took in the view of white sand and azure waters from a well-shaded and cushioned lounge. She turned and smiled at his nearly naked form reclining next to her. "Oh, beach boy," she teased, poking him in the ribs.

He batted at her hand, he rumbled a protest. "What?" his eyes still closed.

She scooted closer so she could drop a kiss on his shoulder and let one foot play along the side of his leg. "I need more water."

"It's ten steps inside the suite," he grunted.

She tickled his side again, her hand starting to trace a wider circle up over his bare chest. "Aren't you the one who upped the ante to catering to my every whim while on holiday?"

He groaned, struggling to sit up.

She caught him around the shoulders before he could stand, pressing herself against his back as she whispered in his ear, "Don't forget the ice."


	3. Thin Pink Line

**_Set in the Cancelled universe, a few months after Mary & Matthew finally start dating. There is a lot of baggage on this trip they are taking. From the prompt "Mary/Matthew and the condom broke." I have nothing to do with where those two went with this. I'm crying at the angst right along with you._**

 ** _Usual disclaimers as to I do not own these characters (only a little bit their modern reimagining), no copyright infringement intended, all is born out of the love for those who created and hold the rights to DA. Grazi et mea culpa._**

Eyes snapped open and she was suddenly just wide awake. She reached for her phone to check the time. 5:47am. Matthew's arm was slung across her waist, his breath warn against her shoulder as he spooned in behind her.

She needed to do it, but somehow had to move and not wake him.

Still holding her phone, she slowly slipped out from under his arm and off the bed, hesitating for a moment to watch him, the way he resettled with a sigh, never waking.

In the bathroom, she reached into the back of the linen closet where she had stashed the box earlier this week. She honestly hadn't thought a few weeks ago she would have to worry about any of this. A broken condom when she was also on the pill wasn't that big a deal.

Of course the expression on his face at the time sure didn't reflect that. She was sure she hadn't imagined the flash of terror in his face before he looked at her with concern. Immediately reading what was likely really behind his panic forced her to smile, reassuring him that she was also on the pill, that it would be okay, a nothing event.

But they both knew after what they had been through only months before, the ghost of it all still between them, it wasn't necessarily okay.

Still, she convinced herself it would be nothing.

Only a little more than a week ago, a lot of nothing meant suddenly it was something.

And she wasn't about to let him know.

She must have read the instructions a dozen times before her bladder began to complain in earnest. Snapping the cap back on the end, she set the stick on the counter and sank down to the floor, setting the timer on her phone for five minutes. She was both a jumble of thoughts and completely numb. It would be negative. No point thinking about what would happen if it wasn't. And yet, she couldn't help focusing on that. After all he had been through, that she had been through as well. It was too soon, far to soon for them to have to deal with any of this. It was bad enough she had put off checking for this long, building up her own stress and worry level, but there hadn't been a morning alone this week. Did part of him know subconsciously? She didn't think he had a single clue as to her cycle unless she said something. He had seemed to cling to her this week, something haunting him, needing her there to chase it away in the night. And she wanted to be that for him. But she also needed the answer to this uncertainty as well.

The phone vibrated in her hands, and she jumped, nearly dropping it. Taking a deep inhale, she reached up and pulled the stick down. She shakily blew out the breath she was holding and opened her eyes to read the result.

A thin pink line. Just one. Alone.

She felt hollow inside.

It took her a second to realize that tears were rolling down her cheeks and a part of her was aching with disappointment. _Disappointment._ She jumped up and stuffed the opened instructions and test stick back in the box and shoved them to the back of the linen closet once more. Her hands were shaking and she was trying to swallow down sobs that were threatening to wrack her body. _Dammit_. This should be a relief. A blessing. A lucky break.

The only break at the moment was a part of her heart she wasn't ready to admit to having known.

Turning on the cold tap, she splashed her face with water again and again, until her breathing calmed, her tears stopped and she felt herself going numb again on the inside. She dried her face and checked the mirror. Pale and empty. Just as it always was.

As she slipped silently back into bed, he wondered if he should say anything. The tension she was holding was palpable, wrapped around her like a blanket, the same feeling he had around her all week. It was the reason he had been reluctant to leave each night, why he wanted to be there each morning, to try and hold her safe from whatever it was that was haunting her and causing her to hide herself away. He didn't know how to ask, sure that he would get a hollow, " _It's nothing,"_ in reply. All he could do was just wait for her to open up or crack, and to be there, ready to catch the pieces.

But he was cracking first. He always did with her.

He shifted closer, cautiously pressing a hand against her arm. "Are you okay?"

She shivered, holding herself tight before she finally exhaled and cautiously eased a little back against him. Her head shake was nearly imperceptible. "I'm fine," she whispered, words sounding as if they had to fight to get out. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." His lips brushed across the top of her head as arms took the chance to wrap around her. "Lack of you woke me."

He felt her half chuckle, as slowly, so slowly she was melting into his touch. He knew he wouldn't be falling back asleep, but another hour or so of holding her like this would be enough, or at least the beginning of enough. Unbidden, his hand drifted down, settling over the flat plane of her belly, and he caught the slight tensing against his touch. He listened to her breath, holding himself still, begging into the silence for her to just trust him one inch more.

Her ribs pressed back again him as she inhaled before a tumble of words were cast into the deep indigo of pre-dawn that masked their bedroom. "It was nothing. The condom breaking, I mean. I just … everything is fine." A hesitation, a twinge of something painful in now nearly strangled words. "I know you were worried."

He froze, swallowing hard, pushing down his shock, his … _disappointment?_ Was that what his first thought had been those weeks ago as he realized?

 _"I know you were worried."_ More like subconsciously wishing, hoping against the impossibility that some touch of fate or destiny would give him, give them, the perfect do-over and a happy ending they both had been cheated of far too long. But it was too soon, too soon for her. It wouldn't be fair to her if she was only now able to begin to try and trust him. Just because he wanted, because he knew — oh, how he knew, how long he had known what he wanted their life to be.

His tongue felt thick and he hoped his voice would stay steady, free of the ache that was clenching around his heart right now. "Mary, darling, why didn't you tell me?" The words barely escaped as a whisper.

A small shudder — or was it a sob held back? — made her tremble against him, but his arms refused to let her go. Cool, delicate hands found his, slender fingers covering his, twining with his against her belly, and gently tugging his hand up higher until they rested just below her breasts. The pain squeezed tighter in his chest.

"I didn't want you anxious."

He swallowed down the impulse to let out an exasperated sigh, biting back his urge to tell her that her closing him out was the very reason he was anxious. Her silence as always, putting him on edge, stirring up all those hidden insecurities, all his fears that she deserved better than him. But he knew the bitter lashing out of the pain that was overtaking him wasn't the tack to take with her. He buried his face into her hair, keeping his breathing calm, reminding himself they both continued to hurt from too many accumulated scars.

"I … it hurts more to know you tried to hold that all in alone." His foot found hers, nudging her to let him in, to slide his skin against hers, to tangle themselves in each other as they did so often when bliss overtook them. He needed it, she needed it now, a reminder of what they were with each other.

Her hand squeezed his tighter. "I'm still trying to figure out how to share myself with you. I don't ever want to be a burden or disappointment for you."

Propping himself up on his elbow, he reached to cup her face and turn her to look up at him.

"Mary Crawley, you will never be a burden to me. Or a disappointment." His gaze bored into her in the lightening darkness. His thumb traced across her lips. "And exasperation, possibly, maybe." He dipped to kiss her at that. "But that's what I love about you."

Lips opened, embraced each other, breaths mingling as each reminded the other of what was needed, what was feared. He pulled her to face him in a loose embrace, every fingertip, every inch of skin open to touch and a silent story they traced on the other as the day slowly emerged to chase away the shadows of their room.


	4. Angry to Bed, Angry to Rise

**_Cancelled verse M/M, we join them now as newlyweds, still learning how this whole give and take and communication in a relationship works. Apparently for them, it includes a lot of steam and sizzle._**

* * *

 _Fine._

She had said it before closing her eyes, but she woke anything but. The dark of early morning pressed in on her, and his uninterrupted sleep made her seethe all the more. Padding out from the bedroom, she tried everything; tea, reading, television, stretching out on the couch, begging for at least a light doze.

It was still there, and she was not fine.

How could he? To rise to her mother's bait like that and now no matter what, they would have Cora in the middle of this already anxiety producing mess. And the idiot just didn't get it. He didn't get she could barely handle the pressure and stress of it alone; sharing it with him was testing her last ounce of reserve. But God help them, he just swung open a door for Cora Crawley to walk through and into the most intimate parts of their lives.

She hurled a pillow from the couch across the room.

Idiot. An idiot who wouldn't even apologize because " _it isn't a big deal_."

She glared out the bank of windows until dark gave a sigh to indigo, eventually seeping into a steel gray. Staring at the heavy ceiling of storm clouds, she decided she'd take that dare of rain on a run, and went to grab her leggings and trainers.

He could feel the anger rolling off of her as she moved silently in the bedroom for a mere minute before once more closing the door behind her. She was blowing this out of proportion and putting all the blame on him. _As usual_ , he thought, his foul mood pushing him to the very edge of tolerance.

Stubborn, irrational, over-dramatic. He almost tossed _hormonal_ at her last night but was saved by his last scrap of sanity. But it was so Mary, pushing him, finding every button and not letting go until he lost all rational though.

She was not fine, and he had known as she lied to him last night as they lay there, miles apart in the dark.

He had to decide if he was ready to toss out something as a truce, because he knew she sure as hell wouldn't. Maybe, for once, he would be as stubborn as she always was and wait for her to either talk rationally or crack an offer a understanding. Why did he always have to be the one? Let her work on her apology skills, if she had any.

He rolled over and tried to capture some strand of sleep that wasn't full of angry words and knots in his stomach.

The rain laughed at her challenge and made every inch of exposed skin sting with its bite as she circled the park again, dodging the deeper dips filled with water, trying to keep her balance on steep bits of slick gravel.

Earbuds blared music with a throbbing beat her stride outpaced in her stewing anger. Every vibration of her phone in its armband made her temper steam more. _Stop texting, Matthew. Get the clue I'm not going to answer._

She wanted to strangle him. To grab his shoulders and shake him, to make him understand her for once. To dig her fingers into his flesh, to bruise him until he understood her bruises and felt every pinch and snipe thrown her way. To kiss him with all her rage and anger, to bite and tug and pull at him until he finally got it, finally tasted what she was so upset about, to hum against his growl until his fingers sought to slick away her hurt in every hidden place, and his thrusts into her were a hard and lasting apology.

Her pounding anger and need combined with another vibration of her phone and a patch of mud slick path. Feet went out from under her, skidding in different directions as she tried to catch herself before she smashed a knee open. Earbuds were pulled free and lost in the mud as she landed hard on her side, palms scrapping against gravel.

 _Fuck._

She sat for a second before kicking a heel in anger, mud splashing up against her face. "Fuck!" she kicked her heels and slapped her hands against the ground for every missed stride until she finally started to cry, a laugh bubbling up from deep inside.

God, she sucked at apologies. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

He wanted to fling his phone against the wall. _Christ's sake Mary, just acknowledge me._

He stared at the now cold pancakes and pot of tea. His desire to throttle her was starting to be outweighed by his worry that something might actually be wrong. Or rather, more wrong than their inability to communicate. They were a mess again, and he was kicking himself for actually trying to apologize when she took off somewhere and wouldn't even answer her phone.

The sound of the lock turning made his stomach leap and he tried not to rush to the foyer. Screw that, she can enjoy some of his cold shoulder in return for once.

He managed to wait three angry breaths before admitting he sucked at resolve. Rounding the corner, he stopped dead at the sight of her, wet, bedraggled and covered in mud. She was bent over, trying to untie trainer laces that were soaked and stuck in knots. The angry greeting he had been ready to snap at her turned into a snort of laughter he failed to hide.

She shot a glare at him and turned back to her laces, shifting to turn her back to him, but instead leaving him with the perfect view of her ass and the long length of her legs.

He nearly choked. "Unless that is your attempt at an apology, it's not helping."

She tried to twist herself round to glare at him again, but lost her balance and tumbled over. She tried to bat away hands the reached down to pull her to her feet, but it was no use once his grip found her. Every defense, every barrier was rising once again, and her thoughts of an apology faded as quickly as the chill on her skin was fading against his touch.

 _Damn him!_

He pressed her back into the wall with the length of his body, fingers catching her chin to force her to meet his gaze. Every swirl of anger, of frustration, of passion, of laughter she felt in him was echoed in that pure blue stare of his.

 _Damn him._

She shook her head, admitting defeat when it came to words. Instead, she buried dirty hands into his hair and pulled him down into a hot and stormy kiss that could more effectively deliver every bit of her own frustration and over-riding love than mere language alone.

He tasted of everything she lived for in this world, of every hope and promise, every stubborn moment, of rain and tea and the promise of the rough passions of love and vexation. She wouldn't exist without this, what he breathed into her, wrote against her with hands that sought more skin to warm and bring to life.

She kicked off her trainers, one foot finding balance against his calf as her other leg wrapped around his hips and she tried to crawl inside his soul.

"Just so you know, you are still an idiot." Her tongue traced over his bottom lip before she sucked it between her teeth with a rough, teasing caress.

He ground his hips harder against her. "And you are still a shrew."

"You are so lucky I like idiots," she managed to gasp out as she pulled his shirt open.

"You are lucky I would rather tease than tame a shrew." He caught her moan as he squeezed her breast, thumb teasing over her nipple.

Hands coming to grasp under her bottom, he pushed away from the wall and began to carry her to their bedroom.

"Shower," she murmured into his neck. "I don't want mud on the sheets."

"Woman, you suck at accepting apologies. I am going to get mud where I want to get it," he growled tumbling them both onto the bed.

She bit at his shoulder, finger nails raking his bare back under his shirt. "You are cleaning this up then."

He flipped the duvet over them both, cocooning them into a world of light and shadow all their own. "I'm better at laundry than you are anyway," his lips trailed down her collarbone as he pushed her shirt and sports bra up. "At least I can iron the sheets."

She pinched at the ticklish spot on his waist as she began to work the buttons on his jeans. "As if that matters anyway, idiot."

His mouth sought to warm every inch of her skin, her arms and legs seeking to share every drop of rain with him. She didn't know who was apologizing or why they even fought as hands and fingers that knew each other so well now played out an entirely different battle of wills. Everything was fine, and there was something to be said about going to bed angry.


	5. A Proper Gentleman

_**From the tumblr dialogue line prompt of, "Not unless you give me a kiss."**_

* * *

Her laughter cut through everything else in the noisy pub, and Matthew couldn't help but keep his gaze focused on her as she was nearly doubled over, ruby lips curved into a huge smile as she cackled at something Anna said. The unrestrained note of her mirth made it obvious it was fueled more by a few extra pints than actual humor. He wasn't sure he had ever seen Mary drunk before, but she had been intent on drowning something tonight.

The office group was breaking up, starting to say goodbyes, and Tom nudged him as he passed following the direction of Matthew's moody stare.

"Syb's texted me twice already. Any chance you can keep an eye on her?"

Matthew sighed. Of course he could. He would love to keep more than an eye on her, but with all the tension between the two of them lately at work, he wasn't necessarily sure how any offer of seeing her back to her flat would go over.

He rubbed the back of his neck before giving Tom a nod. "No worries."

Tom clapped him on the back and was off, leaving Matthew to drain the golden remnants in his glass before stepping to the bar to settle the evening's tab.

When he turned back, Mary was giggling to herself as she tried to get her coat on, yet somehow making her way to the door behind the last of the crowd as she did. He had to lengthen his stride to catch up to her, managing to ease her searching hand into her second sleeve and settling her coat on her shoulders as she lost her balance into him.

Velvet brown eyes looked up at him in surprise, and then darkened as her laughing smile took on an odd quirk. "Oh, look, the knight in shining armor."

There was no missing the sarcastic bite to her words as she leaned agains him for a moment more before shoving herself off roughly. He reached for his own coat by the door.

"Just consider me a hired mercenary, then."

"Ha!" Her feet were weaving an unsteady path out onto the pavement. "I'm one stop away, Matthew. I've never needed help walking it before." She shoved her hands in her pockets as she tried to determinedly march away from him, but nearly lost her balance instead.

"You don't usually mix shots in with more pints than Greg drinks in a week." He had looped his arm through her elbow and headed her across the quiet street to the tube station. "A ten minute escort to make sure you don't break one of those heels can't be that much of an annoyance."

She screwed up her face at him, and then giggled. "Fine then. You can play the gentleman for me. But I'll have you know, I'll be grading your performance."

"Excellent, a challenge," he muttered, but quickly ushered her in front of him at the turnstiles, swiping his own card to let her through and again to enter himself, all before she could fumble for her own pass.

"Going for bonus points, are you?" she said letting him take her arm again.

He was more concerned about getting her down the stairs in one piece than answering her.

Timing was such he was able to steer her straight to the platform and through the opening doors of the train. She raised her brows at him as she landed in a seat a little less than gracefully. He gave her a grin as he sat sown next to her. "That was completely arranged. I have my ways."

She tried to muffle a giggle, and leaned into him a bit more than she realized and he had to close his eyes against the electric current she sparked through him. The winter cold of the night had a losing battle with the heat that was flamed up in him. Every bit of him wanted to drink it in, give in to the lure of her, the pull of his own needs. All of him but that nagging voice of his conscience that told him he had promises to keep, and he was about to screw up big time.

The announcement of her stop seemed to come all to soon, and he put his hand on her again to keep her from rising while the train was still moving. Her eyelids were dropping slightly, giving evidence of sleepiness quickly settling in, and her cheeks were flushed. He couldn't help but look at her, how she suddenly looked too young, too vulnerable and he silently cursed as his heart added its own aching twist to his thoughts.

Arm slipping easily around her waist he guided her through the nearly deserted station, out onto the high street now dim and still. She hesitated a minute relaxing into his side a bit more before shaking her head, as if suddenly recognizing where she was.

"This way," he prompted with a slight squeeze, then sucked in his breath as she slipped her own arm around him as they crossed over and wound the couple of blocks through sleepy terraces, white bricks of facades glowing under the dark overcast night, iron work gates and fallow gardens kissed with frost.

She tried to skip up the front steps of her house that held her flat, but slipped and nearly pulled him along in her tangle of legs and grasping hands. That carefree cackle erupted again, breaking the silence of the street, and Matthew tried to shush her as he pulled her to her feet, steadying her as she climbed the handful of steps and fumbled at the keypad beside the door.

"Really, Matthew, too uptight at times," she bubbled, finally getting the keys correct on her third try, the door clicking open. She tossed him a glance over her shoulder as she walked through the door he held open for her. "One more flight. I'll race you."

Heels went skittering in two different directions across the foyer as she kicked them off and somehow managed sprint up the stairs with more coordination than he thought possible. Seeing she was nearly at the top without breaking her neck, he bent to retrieve the red-soled shoes he know she'd want back and slowly climbed the steps to the upper foyer outside her door.

Offering her her shoes in one hand, he held out his other. "Your keys, if I may?"

Holding his gaze, she plucked the shoes out of his grasp with slow smile, and let them fall to the floor again. He recognized too late a dangerous light to her dark eyes. She leaned forward into him, raising herself on tiptoe to whisper against his ear.

"Not unless you give me a kiss."

He wasn't sure he was going to ever be able to breathe again, and his heart skidded a beat before suddenly jumping into double time as her arms wound around his neck. He knew he needed to push her away, but found himself unable to move as she set alight every nerve under his skin.

Her fingers were gliding through his hair, cradling the back of his head and she pulled him down to meet his lips, but pulled back for a moment.

"Careful, Crawly. You still need to be the gentleman and give a proper goodnight kiss at the door." The rich warmth of her voice held the lightness of a teasing tone that was just to the left of downright seductive. The nearly physical pulse of it that wrapped around him was making his head spin as blood began to pool in another area of his body. "Nothing sloppy, no tongue, just a proper, gentlemanly kiss."

Her last few words were punctuated with the strokes of her thumbs across his cheeks, and her body suddenly pressing into his, thickness of winter coats no barrier to him knowing all too well what she felt like against him.

He had to swallow his moan as she pulled his mouth down onto hers, sweet with the night air, but warm with her breath as she let her own lips part against his. Clearly her admonishment of no tongue applied only to him as she began to gently caress the curve of his upper lip with the hot tip of her tongue, tasting him throughly as he tried his best to keep from slamming her back against the door and plundering her mouth with the heated fury that was roaring in his ears at this moment.

Fuck proper, nothing in the last half hour had been proper between them, and instead of lifting his arms to untwine hers from around him and stepping away as he should, he pulled her into an embrace that told her everything the restraint of his mouth against the onslaught of her lips wouldn't. Tumbling past the hell of conflicted emotions, broken promises, he caressed her seeking mouth with his, carefully sucking at her, teasing her just as she was angrily torturing him.

A gasp for air, the heat of the charged space between them, unblinking eyes finding each other again, he stared into the dizzying depths of hers, recognizing every piece of hurt, want, fury and need. Shaking hands that wanted to clench into fists at his own betrayal, he carefully stepped back from her. The frozen mask slipped back into place on her face, and he watched as her own trembling hand found her pocket and pulled out her keys. Her lifted brow spoke so much more than they ever would allow themselves to utter aloud, and he fought back his own self-loathing as he turned the lock and opened the door for her.

Her shoes were back in her grasp, knuckles white as she looked up at him for a moment. "I'll be generous and give you an A there, Crawley." Her voice sounded a hell of a lot steadier than he felt, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing aloud.

"Do you need —"

"No," her sharp tone cut him off. "I think I can manage the rest on my own."

Her mix of suggestion and pique were a heady combination for his already inflamed desires, and he was at a knife's edge of tossing away any last scrap of honor he had. Instead, her door shutting in his face made the decision for him, and he tottered back to the side where the shreds of his integrity were quickly being reduced to ash. This time he did let a breath laced with every profanity he could think of, all squarely directed back at himself. He'd take the longer walk in the frigid air back to his flat, wondering if he could despise himself anymore than he did now.


	6. Parboiled

**From the tumblr anon prompt: "M/M and mischief managed."**

* * *

She's drifting somewhere in that halfway state between sleep and waking, where thoughts become as fanciful and flexible as dreams. The fleeting thought of how out of shape she is and that she really needs to get serious about getting back to her yoga practice.

A perfectly balanced _natarajasana_ pose crumbles into reality with a loud shout from downstairs.

"Mum!"

She blinks, wondering just how long she's managed to sleep in this morning. The voice calls out again, the summons followed by an unintelligible question for her to answer.

She turns to look into groggy blue eyes, blinking back sleep and echoing her own confusion.

"Mu-um!"

This time it's drawn into two very long syllables.

Matthew sighs beside her before calling out an answer, "George!"

She winces at the shout so close to her ear, and he nuzzles a kiss into the nape of her neck, a murmured " _Sorry_ ," echoing more through his chest pressed into her back than her actual hearing.

She stretches slightly, yawning as she quietly asks, "I'm sorry, you wanted to stay home this holiday week because?"

He chuckles against her, lips a bit more than teasing along her neck and into the curve of her shoulder this time. "Because at least here there are videos and games to entertain while I manage some mischief."

She can't help grinning, toes still feeling slightly curled about just how well he had managed that mischief earlier.

Before fingers and lips can wander too far once more, there is a loud thump on the bedroom door followed by a clearly enunciated, "Mum, what does 'parboiled' mean?"

Matthew's forehead hits her shoulder as he groans and she has to swallow a chuckle laced with a sigh of her own before she manages to clear her throat.

"Why exactly do you need to know what parboiled means?" She tosses a glance behind her to Matthew, knowing they have more than a little reason to be suspicious.

There is a slight pause, and she can she almost see him shuffling his feet and schooling his face into his most angelic expression. "Because I'm curious and like to learn new things."

She rolls her eyes and nudges her shoulder back into Matthew as she shifts to her back so she can poke him in the chest.

"This is all you, Isobel warned me what you were like," she mutters, hoping her words to Matthew would tamp down the temper she didn't want to snap back at George.

He bats her hand away, giving her an over-injured expression, before stepping in with an authoritative tone. "George, what are the rules about being in the kitchen unsupervised?"

The slight hesitation in response from the other side of the door is enough for them to exchange raised brows at each other. "But, I didn't —"

"George." The warning in Matthew's tone is more than clear.

A flurry of footsteps comes from down the hall, and sounds of scuffle outside the door with a muted thump against the paneling is followed by George's voice. "Ow! Lucy, quit it! Stop, I didn't — _shhh!_ "

There is another thump and more whispered exchange before footsteps flutter away again back down the hall. She can just picture a now overly-flustered George on the other side of the door and grins back at Matthew.

He sighs and rolls his eyes at her. "George, you have five minutes to clean up whatever you have gotten to in the kitchen."

"But, Papa, I didn't —"

"I'm setting the timer now." He makes a face at her as George lets out an exaggerated sigh of frustration and stomps back down the stairs.

Shaking her head, she wonders when it became legal for eight year olds to have so much teenage attitude.

"Did I mention how much I am enjoying this holiday?" she asks dryly.

"Did I mention what I was going to do to you in the next four and a half minutes?" His fingers and other areas of his anatomy punctuate his answering growl, making her laugh and wiggle away from him, not letting him off that easy. A hand finds its way to her most ticklish spot, just under her ribs, and she can't help the squeal that escapes against his shoulder, as his lips search for another spot behind her ear, one that elicits a more erotic response from her body, but just as immediate and intense.

Just as she's ready to surrender once again to his ministrations and the rapidly growing inferno between her thighs, her brain slowly registers the quick succession of knocks on the door before it flies open. An elbow to Matthew's chest, the instinctive grab for the sheet over naked breasts, and she can't help but laugh at the dashing swirl of ruffled white nightdress, dark hair in a mad birds-nest of tangles, and sparkly purple faerie wings that is now scrambling up onto his side of the bed with a whisper-shouted, "Papa, Papa!"

Lucy launches herself into her father's shoulder, whispering something in his ear that elicits a surprised grunt and then she is suddenly launching herself over him and landing on Mary. She lets out a small _oof_ at the sudden weight on her chest as small arms reach up to wrap around her neck and three resounding kisses are puckered against her cheek, the scent of strawberries and mint toothpaste hitting her.

"Love you, Mummy."

It's whispered fiercely against her ear as arms squeeze tighter for just a heartbeat before glitter and wings and ruffles are tumbling off the side of the bed and vanishing behind a slammed door, and Mary's cheeks are suddenly aching from smiling.

Matthew is chuckling now, pressing back against her side, warm breath finding the same ear that is still ringing from the most wonderful wake up greeting.

"And _that_ is all you."

She grins up at him, heart still intensely aching from love. "I'll take that."

He drops a kiss on the end of her nose. "You have fifteen minutes," he murmurs, a glint in his eyes, "while I go manage the mischief our offspring are creating." There is a rakish lilt to his brow, and a wandering hand teases the side of her hip before pinching playfully at the curve of her bottom. "Have the shower warmed up and I'll meet you there."

She laughs as he slips from under the duvet, thinking just how much she is in fact loving this holiday.


	7. Sorry to Say

**_Tumblr prompt from amerigirltn: "Writing prompt for Holiday Blues verse: First time M/M wake up together when they both have thoughts about it being love"_**

* * *

Letting out the umpteenth frustrated sigh, she kicks at the duvet, warm skin seeking the cool air of her flat. Picking her phone up from where she had dropped it on her chest, she presses the home button once more to see the time.

She should call him. She should apologize for everything she said to him last night, for being the impossible person she was, to ask him if he could possibly forgive her.

Biting her lip, she lets the phone drop once more as a cold fear knots itself in her belly.

She has been having this same circle of thoughts for the last five hours, ever since she childishly rang off on him last night.

The first hour had been spent with her tears. The second somehow wishing she could sleep. Five minutes into that hour she realized it was impossible for her to sleep alone in her bed, her body and soul too used to the buoy of his presence. Another minute and she was trying to find words for an apology, and the rest of the sleepless night had been spent cataloging every wrong thing she had done and wondering why on earth he put up with her for one second.

She should call him and apologize.

Another sigh and she grabs for the phone again, nearly dropping it as it vibrates in her hand.

The screen flashes to life with his caller ID.

Shaking fingers somehow swipe across the screen, and she presses the phone to her ear.

Words rush out of her before she is even sure the connection is made. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes feel hot again with tears and her heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice against her.

"No, I shouldn't have —"

"Don't. I'm difficult and impossible and selfish, and I don't know why I —"

"You aren't, and can I please —"

"I am and you know it, and I don't know why you —"

"Mary, will you —"

"I love you!"

Her breath catches in the silence, and she closes her eyes, wondering why on earth those words she had been holding so close inside her choose this moment to fly loose. Before she can make any sense of it, she whispers it again. "I love you, Matthew."

She's pretty sure her heart has stopped beating as what seems an eternity of silence stretches between them before she hears any sign of life on the other end of the line.

"That's damned unfair to say right now when you aren't in front of me for me to kiss into oblivion and tell you I love you, too." His voice is oddly tight, as if he's struggling to speak.

She hiccups back a sob as she smiles. "See, I told you I'm impossible and selfish."

"I love you, Mary."

It's a caress against every single hurt she's ever endured and tears make hot tracks down her cheeks and back into her hair. "And now I need to kiss you senseless."

He half chuckles and groans. "We're both idiots."

"Only because I love you." God, she can't stop saying it, the tingle of emotion that sparks through every nerve as the words tumble out of her making her more and more addicted to it. "I can't sleep with out you beside me," she confesses softly.

"I know the feeling," he sighs. "Fools in love?"

A sniffle escapes her. "Definitely fools in love." Silence stretches over several heartbeats, and she can almost feel him there with her. Almost, and she is caught somewhere between bliss and torture.

"I'm thinking in future, my policy will be no business trips without you," he murmurs.

She smiles. "That works for me. Because this really doesn't right now."

"I know," he agrees quietly, and then begins to laugh. "God, Mary, your timing."

She raises her brows. "My timing? You're the one who was in a mood last night."

"This afternoon," he corrects. "It's only 1:00 am here."

"Mm, I know."

"I was going mad waiting until I could call you back and not wake you."

She chuckles. "I told you I didn't sleep. You should have just called."

"Next time." She catches the sound of him muffling a yawn.

"No, no next time, thank you very much." She finally relaxes deeper into the mattress. "I'm going to be asking Tom to write the no separate business trips bit into the bylaws, so the next argument we have can have a proper apology."

"No apologies, love."

She practically levitates at how natural and wonderful that new endearment sounds. "Matthew —"

"Shush, no need. Not when I love you so much."

She smiles into the creeping light of her bedroom. "Careful, that may be the most extravagant carte blanche ever." Another sigh, as she wiggles her toes and looks over at the empty pillow beside her. "How many hours until you are home?"

"15 hours and about 37 minutes."

She chuckles again. "Not that we are counting down."

"Never." She hears him sigh as they slip into that silence where they can almost feel the other beside them. "Stay up with me a bit longer?"

She nods, even though he can't see her. "Always. As long as you promise to get some sleep." She stifles a yawn of her own. "One of us has to be rested today."

"Call out sick. I'll write you a note."

"I don't know, my boss can be a bit of a hard ass," she giggles.

"And hear I thought you liked that about me," he murmurs suggestively.

"Excuse you, I was talking about me. Since when are you my boss?"

They both dissolve into laughter, and more teasing and jests and suggestive words fly back and forth. She could care less about being late for work, or anything else as she listens to the silence as he finally falls asleep mid-sentence. She wonders how she doesn't explode with all the emotion crammed into her chest at this moment, reluctantly sliding her finger across the screen of her phone to end the call. 14 hours and 29 minutes, she tells herself, sleep weighing heavy on her own lids.

And never a night spent without him again.


	8. Treize

**treize**

The sky was barely lightening for the dawn even though he knew it was getting to be that time. His eyes were dry and his head ached, but still he sat there, laptop on the table beside him, television muted, but showing the same images again and again.

Of course that would be how she found him. Silent as she always was, he could still sense her as clearly a physical touch, real and solid even before her fingers brushed lightly across his shoulder, stroking across his head as she stood behind him.

"You saw the text from Suzette?"

He took a deep breath, knowing there was no way he could answer, not even sure he could nod without losing his composure. But she knew and he felt her embrace tighten around him as her lips brushed his temple, and she stayed there, her own breathing unsteady for a moment. He closed his eyes, suddenly unable to bear the stream of pictures on the plasma screen. He reached for the remote where it had slipped down beside him and clicked off the television for the first time in hours.

Some how that made reality settle in all the harder.

Her voice was quiet but strong. "I want to take Lucy and George out to that farm by your mother's today. And that park up there."

Words bubbled up and out of him without making sense, without any reason. "George has a game today, and doesn't Lucy have practice?"

The tension from her body hit him like a blow. The icy edge to her voice cut at him even deeper.

"I'll call your mother in a couple hours and let her know we are heading up. I don't want to disturb any plans she has, but if she is free, she can join us."

He swallowed hard.

"We need this, Matthew. _I_ need this."

The raw emotion in her words was as graphic as any media clip that he could still see all too clearly in his mind.

"I know. I —"

Her arms snaked around his chest and her face pressed into the side of his neck. He knew he didn't need to say anymore, to explain his idiotic reflexive response, his attempt to slip back into normal when he knew damn well nothing would ever feel normal again.

He reached up to cover her hand with his, slipped out of her embrace so he could stand and pull her to his chest. Arms finding each other again, heartbeats slipping into the same steady rhythm even as a cloud of shared grief circled and wove its way in.

She was right. They did need this. Some way to push pause, some way to protect, to shield, even if innocence would no longer be an option after today.

He dropped a kiss to her dark head, and he could feel the damp of her tears through his shirt as she trembled and began to push away. She didn't lift her gaze to meet his, and he knew she was doing her best hold herself together, to wall away the part of her in danger of shattering with the wrong word or touch.

"Do you want coffee or tea this morning?"

Her own automatic question, but the husky whisper of her tone belied any semblance of normalcy.

"Coffee."

And then it was silent, nothing but the quiet hiss of the brewer, the clink of spoons against stoneware for the next hour or so as each waited in their own quiet sorrow for the stir above them of those still untouched.


	9. On the Third Day of Christmas

**On the Third Day of Christmas**

He was running his fingers up and down her spine, lightly, unconsciously, but she was all too aware of his touch, the way electricity seemed to gather under his fingers, spiraling out, wrapping around them, pulling them into a bubble of just them, even amidst a busy room. She glanced down, slightly sideways, watching as her hand casually brushed against his thigh as she resettled herself, another glance up to meet his gaze for the briefest second, a flash of shared emotion, of that feeling of being wrapped together all too intimately even as they sat here among the holiday chatter.

She dare not glance at the clock again, to be disappointed by the way the hands seemed to refuse to move. All she wanted was those moments alone with him, to give into the sense she had that something was shifting, that she was at the edge of a precipice. Once she would gladly fall from if it meant his arms were around her.

As the required hours finally passed and the adieus allowed, she trailed slowly behind him across the marble of the foyer, a sense of anticipation making her heart flutter. Her steps stilled all the more as she watched his back while he shrugged into the coat Carson held out for him. She tried hard not to let her gaze flash up to that garland swagged above the vestibule, glossy green leaves and red velvet trim peppered with telltale white berries.

"Mary?"

He was frowning back at her, holding her coat out for her. She glanced over to see Carson vanishing through the stairway door, but still Matthew stared at her. She tried hard in that moment to not let the warm prickle of expectation dashed dampen her eyes, and instead lifted her chin, joining him, letting him slide the coat up her arms and over her shoulders.

If it were actually snowing out, perhaps it would be easier for her to hold on to this facade of iciness.

Before she could turn to reach the door, his breath tickled warm against her ear, "Mistletoe."

God, he would break her. She would shatter right here, a foolish woman in love. Even as he turned her in his arms to whisper a soft lingering kiss over her lips, she hated herself for being selfish enough to expect more than this. Fingers curling at the back of his neck, she returned his caresses, reminding herself she had so much more than she deserved already.

She stared out the car window on the drive back to their flat, taking in the holiday lights that were magnified and splintered about by the rain. Her fingers were warm where his were wrapped around them, but the rest of her felt so cold and heavy. She tried to shake it off, the emotion of disappointment that seemed to weigh her down.

She had been nearly certain that there was supposed to be more. No, she wanted more, demanded it, imaging some fairytale moment. Where that obsession had come from she had no idea, but she needed to put it away. Mistletoe was mistletoe for them, for him. That it had become something more for her, that she was placing her unshared meaning onto him and expected he would return in kind was of her own making. Perhaps now with Boxing Day over, she could pack it away with all the other silly nonsense of the season she had bought into.

A wintery sun was feebly poking its way though thinning gray to greet pavements and roofs still wet with rain that refused to listen to the chill calling for a white Christmas. She hummed a sleepy sigh of stirring, stretching her legs under the warm cocoon of covers, slowly opening her eyes to find Matthew watching her from his pillow.

"Good morning, most gorgeous darling," he murmured, a hand finding her hip under the covers, a feathery caress, a gentle call to wakefulness, the familiar brush of a thigh against hers.

How could she want more than this? She smiled, and leaned over to trace grateful lips against his before dropping a kiss on the end of his nose, and then his forehead.

The light laugh that rumbled beside her made her smile and scoot closer until she felt a much more acceptable ratio of skin touching skin had been achieved. She let out a happy sigh, and let her eyes drift closed again. "I think I need a proper lie-in this morning." She hesitated a second before cracking a lid to peek at him. "Perhaps with tea."

Fingers loosed from her hip, and he turned away for a moment, reaching back towards his nightstand. "I might have to see if Father Christmas can get on that for you."

She was about to give him a pout, and ran cold toes up his shin, pleased at least she made him jump. But then he was facing her again, something in his hand.

"Here," he slid the square box across the duvet to her.

Curious she turned it over, wondering at the squat and square black box and gold bow. "What's this?"

"Just an extra something I had under the tree for you."

The teasing glint she expected in his eye wasn't there. Instead, she could almost see a nervousness, a tension written across his features.

"From two days ago?"

His eyes met her query, but she noticed the tinge to his cheeks, that telling sign he was up to something. Yet she didn't allow her emotions to tangle things up just yet. This was no jewelry box, not something to stir those hopes up again. Besides, in the dim light of a damp morning, his thigh snuggling in between hers, his breath close enough to warm her and remind her how he was always there for her, there was very little reason to want more.

Untying the ribbon around the box, she lifted the lid, and puckered her brow as she looked down into the bed of gold tissue and the unusual item it held.

"Mistletoe?" She looked at him, a sudden butterfly finding its way to the pit of her stomach. "Is this a request for more decoration around the flat? Because I think you are a wee bit late."

He reach over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "There are still ten days of Christmas left."

"And you are short on kisses?"

"Maybe."

That look of expectation on his face was becoming clearer and clearer, but she wasn't sure what he was playing at.

Reaching in to lift the bundle of tied branches out, she caught sight of something looped in the golden bow. She froze, not sure she was seeing it right, the sparkle there. Her heart leapt, pounding madly against her chest, and she lifted suddenly nervous eyes to look at him, speechless.

He nodded slowly at her, reaching out to take her hand that was still hovering above the mistletoe.

His voice was shaky whisper. "Will you?"

She gripped his hand spasmodically, realizing she hadn't imagined it, the sparkle of diamonds on a band of gold. Yet still words were beyond her, and all she could do was nod, the tightness of her heart pushing the warmth of tears to her eyes.

There was a matching sheen of moisture in his gaze as he squeezed her hand back before reaching to tug the bow, the golden loops effortlessly collapsing, slipping the delicate ring off the ribbon and shifting it to the tip of her finger.

"Marry me, Mary Crawley. Because I can't imagine my life without you in it forever."

A laugh of pure joy bubbled forth from her, quickly joined by his chuckle of relief as his lips caught hers. A moment beyond dreams, beyond hope and expectation. All she had needed was to let go and trust, and the universe gave her yet more than she had any right to demand. Her fingers wove through his silky hair as she reveled in the taste of him, of every inch of him tangled against her, and she knew she was beyond blessed to have this man beside, know that he wanted her beside him in every way imaginable.

His lips slid from hers to trace the line of her jaw, to taste the curve of her neck before returning to the smile she couldn't contain.

"So if a couple is caught under the mistletoe has to kiss, what does it mean if there is mistletoe between the couple in bed?"

She chuckled wickedly against his mouth. "Oh, I think we can figure that one out right enough."


End file.
